


They Say That Coal Turns Into Diamonds

by CrimsonCasualties



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Death, Everyone Thinks Alexander Is Deaf, Fluff and Angst, Many Different Historical Figures, Mute Alexander Hamilton, Rating May Change, Selectively Mute Alexander, Sign Language, So much angst, Thomas Is Kind Of A Jerk, but he's not, like a lot, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2018-12-05 09:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11575053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonCasualties/pseuds/CrimsonCasualties
Summary: John picked up his bow and looked to Alexander, who had already begun equipping himself, another one of his signature grins painting his features, “Happy Hunger Games,” he said in the most pompous Capitol accent he could conjure up, bowing in the process.Alexander simply rolled his eyes, adjusting his quiver of arrows. With an over-exaggerated imitation of a curtsy, he returned John's smile and quirked up his dark brows before responding, "And may the odds beeverin your favour."You guessed it-It's a Hunger Games AU!





	1. It's Quiet Uptown

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514289) by [Mostly_Angst_Whoops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mostly_Angst_Whoops/pseuds/Mostly_Angst_Whoops). 



> Hello there!
> 
> Before you start reading-  
> Yes, I know that this first chapter is pretty long, but fret not, my dearies~  
> The future chapters will probably be a bit less wordy... Probably.
> 
> If you want to go check out the work that inspired me to write this, please give the author a Comment or Kudos! They've worked very hard on it, and they appreciate every bit of support ^.^
> 
> Also-  
> If you wish to express any triggers that you may have and don't want to make them public in the Comments, please feel free to message me on Tumblr:
> 
> @smol-space-debris
> 
> or
> 
> @runawaycaptain
> 
> I will try to add as many warnings as possible before each chapter.
> 
> You may also contact me there if you simply want to chat or scream at me about a decision I made in the plot.
> 
> That being said-
> 
> Warning:
> 
> Alexander's backstory is rather sad, and there is a lot of death. None of it is particularly too graphic, but opinions differ from person to person, and there's no harm in being careful.  
> Then there's the Reaping scene, and of course it's upsetting- it's the Reaping.
> 
> Enjoy, my dears~

The streets of the Seam were hauntingly empty, and eerily just as quiet. Gloom settled over the town like a solemn, grey cloud, the air standing still and hardly a creature stirring up a sound. It was the final hours before the Reaping, the dreaded ceremony that would take from the Seam one young man and one young woman to compete against Tributes from the other Colonies.

The Hunger Games, they called it- though it was much more than a mere game to the people of the poorer Colonies. It was a battle, a battle that only one of the twenty-four Tributes could win. Only one was allowed leave that arena with their life.

There was no other that loathed the Reaping more than a young man by the name of Alexander Hamilton. The ceremony bore him no happy memories. Each year, it only seemed to add lumps of coal to the fire of defiance that burned well beneath his eyes- almost, it seemed, igniting his soul.

His elder brother, James, had been chosen in his first year of eligibility. At only twelve years old, James was beaten mercilessly with a club and left to die in the sweltering heat of the jungle biome. He lost his life at the hands of a Career- a nickname given to the Tributes from wealthy, prosperous Colonies. It took him eight long hours to finally take his last breath. After that, the people of the Seam sent his family food and wrote them letters expressing their sadness, their pity.

Alexander was seven years old when he decided that he hated pity.

His cousin, Peter, had killed himself to avoid being Reaped. Though not unheard of, it was actually quite uncommon to find dead bodies popping up right before the Reaping. Imagine how surprised young Hamilton had been when he found the body floating in the wash tub, the water stained crimson. 

Alexander was eight years old when he decided that showers were far more efficient than baths.

Then there was Hamilton's father, James Hamilton. He didn't necessarily die because of the Games. Being the drunk that he was, he made a damned fool of himself and got into a fight during the ceremony after one of his little playthings was chosen as the female Tribute. Simply put, the Reds put a stop to that with a few shots from their blasters. Young Alexander Hamilton was eye-level with the corpse once the Reds had picked it up, his big brown eyes staring into the lifeless ones that his father now possessed without so much as shedding a single tear. Though not entirely sad to see the man gone, it was still upsetting to watch his own father lose his life at the hands of a British Officer.

Alexander was nine years old when he decided that his fear of the Redcoats had morphed into malice and hatred.

His mother, however, was no victim of the Games or the Reaping- perhaps the only one in his family that hadn't. No, she had died from a terrible bout of plague that had fallen over the Seam after the Capitol had started disposing of their waste just north of their water supply. Whenever It rained, more and more waste traveled down into the rivers, poisoning the water. It was catastrophic by the time it reached the Seam, killing hundreds of workers and frail little children, their immune systems already horrid due to the lack of food. The poisoned water was merely giving them a swifter end. Somehow, Alexander remained the only member of his family that had not died off. For some reason, unbeknownst to even the laws of nature, he couldn't seem to die.

Alexander was ten years old when he decided that he would never speak unless he had no other choice.

Alexander Hamilton was ten years old when he decided that he would watch the Capitol burn.

~~~

Even at a young age, Hamilton was forced to face the realities of adulthood now that his parents were gone. He was a mute, bastard, orphaned, son of a whore, and that wasn't exactly the type of person that most of the town workforce was looking for, especially since the town workforce was run by the Reds. The only option he had was to either join the coal miners or train for the military. It didn't take a genius to know what he would pick when the time came.

At the age of twelve, he began his duties at the coal mines, the Reds seeing no problem in putting a child to work. It seemed if you were old enough to die for the entertainment of the Capitol, then you were old enough to do manual labour for half the wages of an adult. At least the British managed to maintain some sort of sense in the midst of their insanity.

Besides, many of the miners already knew how to read sign language. The explosions that had happened in the mines had either killed or deafened most of the men, so they had to have some way to communicate. By the _graciousness_ of the Capitol, they had sent educators to teach sign language- not just to the condemned, but to most of the Colony. That way, the deaf could have some semblance of a social life.

Each morning, he would wake up much earlier than the others in the orphanage and hurriedly get dressed, climb up to the roof and watch the sky change colour. Once he heard the alarm bells sound from within, he would climb back down to join the others for breakfast and head to work with the rest of the older boys. He would work just as hard as any grown man, pushing himself harder than he probably should have been. Each evening, he would return to the orphanage caked in coal dust and sweat. He was allowed five minutes to shower and clean himself up before supper, and headed straight to bed afterwards.

Alexander didn't necessarily like the food that was provided for him, but even at twelve years old, he knew that he had no other choice but to eat. He had to stay alive. The orphanage served the same food on a daily basis, the budget and location not allowing much in the likes of variety. Alexander knew what he could manage to stuff down his throat, and he knew what would just make him throw it all back up again. He had his system, and it worked. He may have been skin, bone, and a tiny bit of muscle from working in the mines, but he was alive.

If you could call it that.

Whenever Alexander got paid his wages, he set aside a certain amount for his future- hidden in a place so obscure and far away that no other child, or adult, would be able to find it- and kept a few coins in his pocket for getting a bit of food from the marketplace. His favourite of the establishments had quickly become the bakery for two reasons. One, bread was cheap and filled his small stomach. Two, he had been reunited with possibly the only person that he couldn't seem to hate, another young boy by the name of John Laurens.

John and Alexander had been best friends since they were in swaddling clothes, attending school together and even managing to find time to simply be children and play. But then the plague happened, and Alexander went off the radar, locking himself away within the walls of the orphanage for nearly two whole years.

When Alexander had stopped by the bakery the first time, the day just before the Reaping, John had instantly recognized him. The boy had hardly changed in appearance, he simply looked a bit older. But there was something else about Alexander that seemed to throw him off when he called out his name and raced to his side, something off.

Upon closer examination, Alexander just looked... unhealthy. There were bags beneath his eyes, his dark brown hair a mess, his clothes and skin caked in black powder. He didn't look like the Alexander that John had known his entire life.

Not to mention that John Laurens was nearly gobsmacked when Alexander began signing to him, a nervous smile upon his dirtied features. He nearly collapsed from relief when he found out that his dear friend had not been made deaf by an explosion. He would have killed the man responsible if Alexander had gotten hurt- that is, if said man weren't already dead.

After a brief conversation, Alexander had reached into his pocket and pulled out the small but of his wages that he had kept from his earnings and handed them to John, intending to pay him for a few rolls or perhaps a small loaf of bread. John had simply refused, grabbing a loaf of bread from the rack and handing it to Alexander, despite his stubborn protests. John merely laughed, "You can thank me later, Alex," he had said, patting the younger boy on the back and letting him take his leave.

John almost let out a laugh when he saw coins stacked neatly on the doorstep the next morning, the exact amount that Alexander's loaf of bread had been worth.

He couldn't help but smile at Alexander during the Reaping after the Tributes had been picked, happy that his long-lost friend had not been taken from him. And he surely did not miss the wonderful smile that Alexander had given him in return, or the slight pink tint to his cheeks.

~~~

Five years had passed since then, and the two sat together against an old oak tree outside the Colony fenceline, a gloomy silence hovering over them like a cloud of darkness, just as it had every year. Sometime during the intimate silence, Alexander had sat himself directly onto Laurens' lap, straddling him and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Laurens hadn’t minded, not one bit. He loved when his Alexander got all clingy, as it was an act reserved for only himself, though he supposed that he would have enjoyed it a lot more if the situation weren’t as flawed.

The Reaping would be held in just a few hours, that much they knew.

The air was far too filled with uncertainty for Alexander's liking, and he knew that his name was in that damned bowl too many times for it _not_ to be him. He shivered at the remembrance of his brother, broken and bloodied and breathless as he laid dead on the faux jungle soil.

Laurens knew exactly what the younger man was thinking, as he had been thinking the same thing every single year, and began pressing gentle kisses to Alexander's head. 

Alexander slowly lifted his head and placed his hands upon both sides of John's face, staring intently, his dark brown eyes wide and laced with equal amounts of admiration and anxiety. The collier looked as though he had something on his mind- which, he undoubtedly did, considering his newfound physical attachment towards Laurens, which he always seemed to obtain when he was either upset or horny. Laurens highly doubted that it was the latter.

The baker simply continued to smile at him, running a thumb gently over the younger man's knuckles, "Alex," he began, his voice soft and light hearted, "Everything will be just fine, alright?" He cooed, trying to ease Alexander’s nerves, "You can put those pretty little eyes of yours back in their sockets, now."

John's attempt at teasing him just made Alexander roll his eyes, closing them so he wouldn't have to look the cheeky little grin that belonged to his stupid, handsome, freckle-faced lover. 

Laurens rubbed soothing circles into Alexander's back with his free hand, relishing the proximity, "This is my last year, Alex," he stated, "After this, you'll only have yourself and the little ones to worry about." His grin wavered, though still managed to remain even though Alexander wasn't looking at him anymore.

The collier let out a sigh, his warm breath fanning over John's face as a smile crept upon his features. After a moment, Alexander's eyes opened and he relaxed the tension in his body, lowering his hands to rest upon John's shoulders, "I don't think Martha would be too happy about being referred to as one of 'the little ones,'" He murmured with a light chuckle, his fingers toying with the stray curls that had escaped John's ponytail.

Alexander's voice was quiet and weak from the sheer lack of use over the years. He usually hated the sound of his own voice, and it certainly didn't help that every person that he seemed to have a pleasant conversation with managed to die, as though the universe were out to kill every person that he had ever had got along with or- Heaven forbid- loved. But talking with John was different, it had always been different.

John seemed to be the only exception to the harsh, unspoken rule. Laurens was immune to the curse, the curse that was Alexander Hamilton.

And damn, if it didn't make John Laurens the happiest man alive.

Laurens cherished every second that Alexander spoke, his lover's voice like a precious gem that was scarcely ever seen. Hell, Alexander himself was a rarity of nature. How someone could be so quiet, yet have the ability to orchestrate brilliant arguments and witty phrases at the drop of a hat, was a mystery to John.

And he loved it.

Laurens cocked his head to the side, his grin still ever-present, "What she doesn't know won't hurt her." His eyes flickered to the right momentarily, his smile wavering, "Speaking of dear little Martha and the rest of my siblings," he began with a small sigh, "We should probably start hunting. You know how easily Henry and Mary get worried when we aren't home- especially since today is… well, today."

With a reluctant tut, Alexander pressed a gentle kiss to John's temple and finally stood, stretching out his aching muscles. Laurens followed suit, brushing the crumpled leaves from his pants as he stood.

John picked up his bow and looked to Alexander, who had already begun equipping himself, another one of his signature grins painting his features, "Happy Hunger Games," he said in the most pompous Capitol accent he could conjure up, bowing in the process.

Alexander simply rolled his eyes, adjusting his quiver of arrows. With an over-exaggerated imitation of a curtsy, he returned John's smile and quirked up his dark brows before responding, "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour."

~~~

The town square was packed full of people, yet another reason Alexander hated the Reaping. Everyone was standing shoulder-to-shoulder, leaving just enough space down the middle of the square to make a walkway to the stage.

Two large, glass bowls sat atop black pillars, folded slips of paper nearly filling them to the brim. This had been one of the more difficult years for the Seam, more and more eligible Tributes signing up for the Tesserae because their families simply lacked the resources needed to survive. Alexander wasn't exactly surprised to see the bowls so full. After all, he had signed up multiple times, himself, despite the fact that John often told him not to and got angry with him whenever he did.

The collier stood close to John on the male side of the square, who was holding the hands of his little brothers. Every now and then, the baker would steal a glance at his mother and little sisters on the other side of the walkway. To say he was worried would have been an understatement. Though Mary was not yet old enough to be eligible for the Games, Martha, James, and Henry were. It made his skin crawl to imagine one of his siblings being chosen- or, Heaven forbid, his dear Alexander.

John's gaze traveled down to his partner, who was nervously sucking the blood from the tip of his finger from when he had to have it pricked. The young man's brows were furrowed in thought, and for about the billionth time since he had reunited with Alex, John wished that he could peek inside that marvelous brain of his.

Alexander’s eyes wandered warily over the entire square, his gaze lingering over one of the Reds momentarily. It was the man- no, _puppet-_ that had shot his father. 

Suddenly, the national anthem of Panem thundered over the speakers, and an extravagantly dressed figure appeared upon the stage. It was the escort for the Colony 12 Tributes, Maria Reynolds, who always seemed to have a rather overwhelming fondness for the colour red. She was followed by the Mayor and one of the only Victors that Colony 12 had, Alexander Macedon, though the people often referred to him as Alexander the Great.

When the anthem was over, she walked up to the microphone in the center of the stage, gently tapping it with one of her fingers to make sure that it was on. "Welcome! Welcome, welcome," she began, pausing to allow one of her colleagues and Alexander the Great to sign what she had said, her Capitol accent too chipper and happy for such a dreary day. It was sickening.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour," She paused yet again, allowing the translator to catch up, "Now, before we begin, we have a very special film brought to you all the way from the Capitol."

And by "special film," she meant the exact same film that they played every year, the one that told the Capitol’s version of Panem’s history. The one that made them sound so benevolent, so kind for hosting the Hunger Games, when in reality, it was just a show of the Capitol’s dominance. It was to show the Colonies, "Hey, if you dare to challenge our authority, we won't hesitate to erase you from the face of the earth like 13~"

Once the film was over and Maria was finished mouthing along, she cleared her throat, "Wasn't that lovely?" She mused with a delighted air, "Let us begin."

Maria sauntered over to the bowl on the female side of the stage, "As always, ladies first." She lifted a dainty hand and plunged it into the bowl, swirling it around a bit before finally pulling out a single slip. She returned to the microphone and opened the slip, clearing her throat once more, "Our female Tribute is Elizabeth Schuyler."

Alexander reeled, shocked at the name that had been chosen. It was the mayor's daughter, Eliza. Sweet, kind, wonderful Eliza. The Schuyler sisters were apart of the very few people that Alexander willingly spoke to. Worry and concern softened his steely gaze as he looked to the female side, his dark brown eyes immediately locking onto the straight black hair that belonged to Eliza, right in front of the stage. Though he couldn't see her face, he knew that she was scared.

Eliza stepped forward, though she was stuck in the grasp of her little sister, Peggy, who already had tears streaming down her face. "Lizzy, no!" She cried, clinging tightly to her sister's dress. The Reds began to close in on her, gripping the younger girl’s arms and pulling her from her sister, struggling all the while. Eliza tore her watery gaze away from the scene, urging herself to move forward, until a voice was ripped from the sobs.

"I volunteer!" Peggy shouted as she wept, and the square went silent, "I volunte-eer!" She shouted again, choking through another sob.

Alexander went cold, his heart sinking. Peggy had turned thirteen just last month, only a year older than the starting limit, and she had volunteered as Tribute.

They couldn't refuse a Volunteer.

The square remained silent as a Red escorted the young girl onto the stage, her eyes glistening with tears. The Mayor stood speechless, no doubt mortified. His youngest daughter had just volunteered for the Hunger Games.

Maria Reynolds gave her a warm smile and squatted down to Peggy’s height, microphone in hand, "And what is your name, sweetheart?"

The youngest of the sisters stood there, wiping the tears from her face, features hardening, "Schuyler. Peggy Schuyler," she replied firmly.

Maria merely kept her cheerful smile, "Hm, I bet my buttons that was your big sister. Wouldn't want her to steal all the glory, eh?" She asked with a light chuckle.

Peggy wasn't amused.

After a moment of awkward silence, Maria stood to her full height, addressing the crowd once more, "Well, let's give a round of applause for our female Tribute, miss Peggy Schuyler!"

No one clapped.

Another moment of silence.

Maria scanned the crowd nervously before scurrying over to the other bowl, "Now, time for our male Tribute!" She chirped, her hand diving into the bowl.

Alexander watched with anxious eyes, barely feeling John's warm hand upon his own, thumb running over his knuckles in an attempt to soothe him.

Maria pulled out a single slip of paper, sauntering back to the center of the stage next to Peggy. 

She unfolded the slip.

Her lips parted.

"Our male Tribute is,"

The world seemed to slow, and Alexander couldn't breathe.

"John Laurens."

Silence.


	2. A Diamond in the Rough...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the end of this chapter was a bit rushed, but I wasn't entirely sure how to go about fixing it x,D
> 
> It's also just as wordy as the last chapter was, with a lot more repetition because why not~
> 
> Warning:
> 
> This chapter is pretty sad, and Alexander has a few mini-mental-breakdowns throughout it. He also ends up accidentally hurting himself at one point during one of those breakdowns, and there is a mild amount of blood.
> 
> There is also a lot of sadness and crying and angst because this is where the Tributes say goodbye to their loved ones.

Alexander couldn't breathe.

He froze, his grip tightening on John's hand. His anxiety was starting to take over, his throat closing up, he was shaking.

_John Laurens, a man that would rather starve than let his family suffer._

John cast a glance down at Alexander, an unreadable expression upon his face. The collier’s knuckles were stark white from the vice-like grip that he had on John's hand.

_John Laurens, a man that had dedicated every day to the well-being of others._

The Reds were closing in. The world was blurring. The fire of rebellion took hold.

 _John Laurens,_ his _John Laurens._

A voice, a tiny voice in the back of his mind spoke out above all other thoughts, above the lapping flames.

_I am not throwing away my shot…_

“I volunteer,” a quiet voice murmured, and the people around it were taken aback, “I volunteer.” The voice was a little louder this time. There was the fire.

It was John's turn to panic, now.

“No, Alexander, please-”

“I volunteer as Tribute.” A tone of finality.

Alexander let go.

John reached for his hand, “Wait, Alex, please wait!” Nobody of importance had heard him, he still had a chance-

It was too late.

Alexander had made it to the center aisle, walking towards the stage and signing _I volunteer,_ over and over again. Tears welled in his eyes, but he couldn't let himself cry now. He wouldn't give the Capitol the satisfaction.

The Reds let him be as he walked onto the stage, fists clenched and jaw set. He couldn't bring himself to look at the Schuyler sisters or the Laurens family- or anyone, for that matter. He stared straight ahead, jaw set, refusing to look at the cameras.

Maria looked to Alexander Macedon, “And what is this young man's name?” She asked. A small part of Hamilton was dryly amused. The woman probably thought he was deaf. He couldn't exactly blame her.

Macedon simply cleared his throat, “That's Alexander Hamilton,” he stated. His voice was deeper than Alex had remembered. Perhaps because it had been nearly three years since he had heard the Victor speak. The man rarely ever got up in front of the public anymore. Hamilton was actually surprised that his name had been remembered.

Maria smiled warmly, “Well, let us give it up for the Colony 12 Tributes, Peggy Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton!”

Maria was the only one that applauded.

The Square went silent.

Mayor Schuyler stood, wiping tears from his eyes, and Maria allowed him to take the microphone. The man’s voice shook as he spoke, but Hamilton hardly paid attention to it. The only things he could focus on were John’s family, the Schuyler sisters, and the new siege of panic forming in his chest.

 _What have I done?_ He thought to himself.

 _I saved John._ But at what cost?

“-will represent Colony 12,” the Mayor’s voice finally pulled him from his thoughts, “Please shake hands with each other if you agree to these terms.”

Alexander turned to face Peggy, stepping forward so that they could shake hands. Instead, Peggy threw her arms around Alexander, clinging to him in a tight embrace, “I'm so scared, Alex, I'm so scared, I'm so sca-ared,” she sobbed quietly into his chest.

Hamilton hugged his dear friend in return, tears threatening to pour from his eyes, “Me too, Pegs,” he admitted in a hushed voice, “Me too.”

The Mayor allowed himself a small, shadow of a smile, “I suppose that will suffice,” he uttered into the microphone, “Now, for the anthem of Panem.”

Once more, the anthem resounded boldly throughout the Seam, though now it had a more disturbing ring to it. The chimes sounded hauntingly similar to the tolling of funeral bells, and the bugles trumpeted out a sinister march. Was Alexander the only one that heard the difference? Stealing a glance at John’s forlorn features, he knew that he was far from the only one.

Alex tore his gaze away, closing his eyes and trying to focus on something else, _anything else,_ until the wretched anthem was over.

When the music ended, the two Tributes were forced to separate and escorted off of the stage. Surrounded by Redcoats, Alexander and Peggy were led through the streets of the Seam sand ushered directly into the Town Hall. Here, they would be saying their final goodbyes to their loved ones before the train arrived to take them to the Capitol.

Alexander didn't have any fond memories of this place, either.

The collier was led into a small sitting room, just opposite from the one that they had taken Peggy to. Just like that, he was all alone, in a room he most certainly didn't want to be in. The room where he had last seen his brother alive.

Frantic footsteps were heard outside his door, the sound of short heels clicking against the old wooden floors. Must have been the elder Schuyler sisters going to visit Peggy.

Alexander sat himself down on a plush chair- perhaps one of the finest pieces of furniture in the town- and held his head in his hands. He was trembling again.

He had done it, he had actually volunteered. There was no going back now.

Alexander Hamilton, volunteer Tribute from Colony 12.

More footsteps, a lot more footsteps. Alexander lifted his head, finding the Laurens children piling into the room, followed by their mother.

John wasn't there.

Alexander fought back the tears and let out a shaky breath as the two youngest children, James and Mary, rushed to his side and enveloped him in their arms. They had been crying, they all had.

 _What have I done…_ The thought echoed about in his head for what seemed like an eternity.

“Alexander,” a soft voice began. Alexander looked up to meet the familiar face, and the little arms let him go. John's mother, Eleanor, continued, fresh tears streaming down her face as Hamilton stood, “I-I don't really know where to begin. You've done too much for us, you know that?” She bore a sad smile upon her features, “You've kept my babies fed when business was bad, and you've put your name in that bowl too many times for me to count to keep the bakery open. And this? Alexander, I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you for keeping my Jacky here.” She wiped at here tears, only for the droplets to be replaced just as quickly, “But please, please win for him, Alex. Win for us. Jacky needs you, and this is killing him, baby,” A sob wracked through her body, and she hugged Alexander, “I can't lose two of my boys, I can't do it.”

Everyone was embracing him, now. Alexander felt warm, safe within their arms. He was trapped in a cocoon of comforting hugs, and it was one of the most precious feelings that Alexander Hamilton had ever had the pleasure of feeling.

Until their five minutes was up.

Alexander watched as the children left, their mother following protectively behind them. 

Barely even a minute later, he received another visitor- or rather, a pair of visitors.

Angelica and Eliza Schuyler entered the room, their cheeks reddened and puffy from crying. They both wore solemn expressions upon their faces, remaining silent as the door closed behind them.

Eliza said nothing as she stepped forward, lip quivering as her watery eyes glistened in the light, “Alexander,” she breathed, finally breaking the deafening quiet, “Please take care of her in the Arena.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, heavily laced with guilt, and it was no mystery as to why. Peggy volunteered to save her, “She's too young to be by herself in there, and I trust you more than the vast majority of the people in that damned bowl.”

Angelica nodded in agreement, “We're happy that she has you, Alex,” a warm, yet sad smile appeared upon her lips as she hurriedly wiped at her eyes, “Heaven knows that you are one of her favourite people.”

Alexander felt his chest tighten at the words. At least one of them was going to die in the Arena, and hearing that was only going to make it worse for him if she ended up being the one to lose her life. Perhaps that was Angelica’s intention.

Alexander couldn't blame her.

“I promise that I will do what I can to keep her safe.” He paused, collecting his thoughts before speaking again, “If... If I don't make it-”

“Don't you dare talk like that, Alexander,” Eliza snapped, “I don't want to think about either of you dying, alright?” Fresh tears welled in her eyes, wetting her lashes and dripping down her cheeks.

Angelica gently took her sister's hand, which seemed to visibly calm her down, “If you... don't make it- Hell, even if you do-” Eliza sent a glare in the direction of her sister, though Angelica simply ignored it, “We will do whatever it takes to end the Hunger Games.”

Alexander reeled, taken aback. End the Games? He finally replied once he regained his composure, “And how are you planning to achieve that?” Many protesters and petitioners against the Games had been silence by the Capitol for centuries- what was to stop them from hushing a few people from the Seam?

The eldest sister continued, “Well, I was hoping you would let us use a few of those pamphlets you wrote.” Angelica smiled at him, “That big brain of yours could change Panem, forever.”

“It would be easier to die in the Arena than have the Reds hunting me down because of a few damn pamphlets I wrote out of spite,” the collier huffed, “Besides, I burned a big portion of them.”

“Then we will use an alias, Alexander,” Angelica stated stubbornly, “And you can write more pamphlets- better pamphlets- in the solitude of the Victor’s Village.”

Alexander pondered a moment before finally caving. It was a stupid, stupid plan, but Alex would do just about anything to end the Hunger Games. They had caused him far too much pain as it was, and there was no need for them to continue. If it meant that he had to die to get the message across... Well, he would make sure to keep a close eye on John when he became a spirit, “Fine, fine. You win- though I would prefer if you used the alias even if I died,” He gave an impish grin, “With all that Capitol tech, I'm sure they'd manage to somehow bring me back to life just to kill me over and over again.”

As the two sisters managed to chuckle at Alexander's dark sense of humour, the door opened.

Time was up.

Alexander gave the two a final hug before they had to take their leave. Once again, he was left to sit alone with his thoughts on the plush chair.

It seemed like nearly half an hour had passed since his visit with the Schuyler sisters, and his heart ached.

Where was John? Was he too upset to even look at Alex?

His chest was beginning to tighten, his anxiety starting to get the better of him.

He needed John. His wonderful, freckle-faced John.

Alexander closed his eyes, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks and his hands balling into fists.

He needed to hug him, kiss him, and tell him how much he loved him- because for all he knew, he may never be able to do those things again- but _John wasn't there._

 _Breathe, Alex,_ A voice inside his head told him- one that sounded exactly like John, _Just breathe, darling. You'll be just fine._

After a few minutes, Alexander finally managed to steady himself. His dark brown eyes opened, disappointed when he found the room empty.

 _This is killing him, baby,_ Eleanor had said.

_What have I done?_

Alexander wiped at the tears, his palms stinging as he did so. Curious, he took a look at his hands, his fingernails having left small, crescent-shaped cuts along his palms from clenching his fists too hard. It had been a while since he'd done something like that. John was always there to calm him down, prevent him from doing so.

A cold, breathy laugh managed to escape his lips, hardly any trace of humour behind it as he pressed his palms to his pants, trying to stop the bleeding.

John couldn't help him in the Arena.

John couldn't keep him sane in the Arena.

Alexander would be alone.

_No._

_Peggy._

Peggy would be there, too.

He had to protect Peggy. He promised.

An air of serenity seemed to wash over him as he focused on his promise, knowing that Peggy would need someone that she could depend on. She didn't need to be depending on an emotional mess, now did she?

Alexander was pulled from his thoughts when another knock greeted his ears. He looked to the door expectantly, the seconds in watching the handle turn and the hinges creak open seeming to take far longer than it should have. There stood a Redcoat, alongside his dear Laurens.

There went his air of serenity. 

“John,” he breathed, a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall. It seemed as though John had shed his fair share of tears after the Reaping, his eyes and cheeks reddened and puffy and glistening. Alexander's limbs felt like they were made of steel, not allowing him to get up from his seat.

Laurens was completely silent as the door was shut behind him, silent as he walked over to Alexander, silent as he dropped to his knees in front of the chair. The quiet was deafening, and it was driving Alexander mad.

“Alexander…” John's voice was small, and for a moment Alex wasn't entirely sure that it came from John.

Alex felt his throat closing up, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. He opened his mouth, but he couldn't manage a single word. It hurt too much to try. Instead, he slowly moved himself to the edge of the seat and gently pulled John's face to his chest, his hands toying with his hair. Alexander hadn't the slightest clue as to how many times John had done something like that with him, but he knew from experience that it was always comforting.

John wrapped his arms around Alexander's waist, and they sat that way for what seemed like a somber eternity, the only sounds to be heard being their unsteady breathing and footsteps outside the door. At any moment, that door would open, and the Redcoat outside would escort John away. This would be the last time he saw John before the Games, and Alexander knew there was a major possibility that this would be the last time he saw John, _ever._

He shut his eyes, savouring what little moments that he had left with his beloved, “I love you, John,” Alexander managed, his own voice barely above a whisper. John's arms almost instantly tightened around him.

“Alexander, please...” Laurens murmured, finally tilting his head upwards to look at the collier’s face, “Please take care of yourself in there,” his face held nothing but fear and worry, “I know you'll do anything to be stubborn and rebellious, especially in the Capitol, but please take care of yourself. Eat and train and work until you look like you're from Colony 2, and show them what you can do. Play by their rules, get Sponsors, and dazzle the Capitol with that big brain and quick wit of yours. Don't let Colonies 1 and 2 scare you- shove their Career privilege down their throats and show them that you won't go down without one Hell of a fight. Show them that Colony 12 is better than they think,” a sad, sincere smile formed upon his features, “And win for me, baby. I know you can do it. If anyone can, it's you, Alex.”

Alexander could hear the desperation behind his voice.

_Please don't leave me, Alex._

John pulled Alexander down slightly, pressing a soft yet passionate kiss against the collier’s. Alexander simply let himself melt into it, his brain tucking away every word that Laurens had said for later use. He had no immediate need for them. For a few, wonderful moments, the world was just himself and Laurens, and that was as close to perfection that Alexander could ever possibly get.

~~~

After his visit with John, time itself seemed to shift and blur at will. Alexander didn't remember much about how he got onto the train, but the only fragments his memory would allow were the faces of people he knew and the _quiet._ The Seam was always eerily quiet after the Reaping.

All Alexander knew was that he was currently sitting at the edge of a giant wooden table, Peggy to his right and the other Alexander to his left. Maria was sitting on a plush seat in the corner, staring out the window at the passing scenery and drinking tea from a cup that looked far too tiny to function as an actual cup. Hamilton frowned as he looked down at the plate before him, a fancy plate filled with foods he'd only ever seen in the Schuyler household- some he hadn't ever seen at all.

 _Please take care of yourself,_ John's voice chimed in his head, and Alexander had no choice but to listen. He pushed back his emotions and did as John had told him to do. He stabbed what appeared to be a small chunk of potato with his fork and ate it, his tongue practically cringing at the sheer amount of seasoning.

Alexander Macedon appeared to have noticed his reaction, “You'll get used to Capitol food soon enough, Hamilton,” he stated, “It takes a couple of meals to adjust to all the flavour, but you'll get used to it.” Clearly the elder man was not looking to delve into Game strategies quite yet. Hamilton scarcely remembered the Victor saying that it was one of the things he'd hated as a fresh Tribute- everything was about the Games too soon. Alexander's stomach churned.

_Win for me, baby._

“That's what I'm afraid of, sir,” Alexander jeered, the tiniest shred of humour lacing his tone, “If I get used to Capitol food, what will Seam food taste like if I ever get to come back?”

His voice was still a bit hoarse, but it was audible. Maria looked as though she had seen a ghost, hearing his voice, “He can speak?” She gasped, “He can _hear?”_

“Bland,” Macedon answered, ignoring Maria completely, “Almost impossibly bland,” he punctuated himself by taking a bite of- oh, dear God in heaven, what sort of meat was that, and why did it look so damn delicious? “It's a rather vicious prize, I'd say. You win the Games, and you can hardly enjoy a meal that isn't shipped all the way from the Capitol.”

Hamilton smiled- though not exactly sincere, it was a start- “Well, the Capitol does tend to specialize in subtle ‘fuck you’s,” he quipped playfully, earning laughter from both of his fellow table patrons.

Maria nearly spat out her tea.

~~~

After an overnight train ride, two droning conversations about survival and the Games in general, four speeches from Maria about the wonders of mahogany, and three heavily-seasoned meals later, the Colony 12 train had finally made it to the Capitol. Alexander took one look out the window, and he knew that he was going to hate it there.

People that appeared to be made from ungodly amounts of colour and sparkle seemed to blanket the entirety of the Capitol as the train slowly eased its way along the tracks. Just looking at all of the senseless colour and motion made Hamilton dizzy, though he kept his contempt to himself.

Peggy was a bit more vocal about her opinion, “They hurt my eyes,” she groaned, a faux smile on her face as she waved to the crowd from her open window. Maria frowned and mumbled something about fashion trends or what not. Hamilton wasn't paying attention.

Alexander smirked in amusement as the crowd’s cheering grew louder at the attention the received from Peggy. They were completely oblivious, and he loved it.

Macedon piped up from his corner of the room, “I suggest you take after Peggy, Hamilton. The more positive attention you give to them, the more they will give to you in the Arena.”

_Play by their rules, get Sponsors._

With a reluctant sigh, the collier opened his window and faked a smile. The cheering grew louder as he began to wave alongside Peggy. This was one of the occasional times where Hamilton wished he were actually deaf.

As Alexander looked out upon the crowd, toying with their perspective of him with nothing put a cheap smile and a wave of his hand, he couldn't help but feel the rebellious fire surging within him once more. For a moment, there was no weakness, no helplessness. Just the fire. It was the same fire that grew brighter with every Reaping, the same fire that had been born on the day his mother had died, the same fire that he had pledged himself to.

A light glittered in Alexander's eyes, and the cheering crowd was blissfully unaware of what lied beneath that charming smile of his.

_You're all going to burn._


	3. ... A Shiny Piece of Coal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies~
> 
> I feel terrible about the delay of post x.x  
> With school starting up, I've been trying to work out a decent schedule between writing and schoolwork, and I think I've finally found a good system these past few days.
> 
> I would like to thank you all for giving wonderful feedback and leaving so many comments and kudos, you are all very appreciated ♡  
> Not gonna lie, I was actually extremely thrilled when the person I pretty much made this for commented on this ;3;  
> I read over their comments, like, thirty times each when I finally got a chance to get online and I was super touched.
> 
> There aren't really any warnings for this chapter, because nothing of any major importance really happens.
> 
> Nonetheless, this is the longest chapter yet, sitting at a little over 4,000 words. So Much for future chapters being less wordy, eh? X,D
> 
> Anyways~
> 
> I am happy to introduce the newest chapter of this little fic.
> 
> Enjoy, my lovelies! ♡

Alexander’s eyes wandered about the concrete room, examining any and everything that he could to keep his mind occupied. Sadly, there wasn’t much in the room to mull over. There was scarcely any equipment, and Alexander didn’t have the slightest clue as to what any of it was. Though, considering the fact that he was in the Capitol, he had a sneaking suspicion that they could- in some way- be used as torture devices.

The fact that nearly every inch of his body was stinging only seemed to convince him more.

As soon as they had entered the giant building, Alexander and Peggy had been dragged in opposite directions and ushered into underground rooms. In those rooms, they were heavily scanned for any diseases or injuries- wouldn't want any of the Tributes dying before they could fight each other in the Arena, of course. That would just take away the fun of it.

Once they were cleared, they were sent to another pair of rooms. If Alexander were to guess, he'd assume that Peggy also hated her second room as much as he loathed his. He was stripped completely and every hair below his jaw was ripped from his body. Waxing, they had called it, and Alexander had quickly formed a love-hate relationship with it. His skin was silky smooth, but left reddened and tender, and every wax strip torn from his skin felt like Hell. But that was not the end, oh no. His brows were plucked to symmetrical perfection, and there was no trace of his peach fuzz left. Alexander was just glad that they hadn't decided to chop off his hair. He would have stabbed someone had they chosen to go anywhere near it.

Finally, he was scrubbed clean- perhaps the cleanest that he had ever been in his entire life- and shoved into a room wearing nothing but a thin, baggy gown. The gown was ill-fitting, hanging off of his lean frame in a way that made him feel tiny, weak. He hardly felt human anymore.

It wasn't long before the fire quelled just enough for his mood to darken again. The sparsely filled room did nothing to occupy his mind, now. The room was too cold, too sterile. It was nothing like the warm, cozy atmosphere of the Bakery that he was used to.

Alexander closed his eyes, letting his thoughts wander to his dearest Laurens. He pictured them sitting in their usual spot beyond the fence, just as they had been the day before. He pictured them exchanging warm “I love you’s” and tender kisses in the shade of the old oak tree. Alexander could practically feel the cool tendrils of a Spring breeze snaking through his hair, along with the calming, steady warmth of John’s hand- _God,_ he loved it when John played with his hair.

His happy imaginings were interrupted by the sound of heels clicking against the solid concrete floors outside of his room. The door slid open with nary a sound, and Alexander opened his eyes just in time to find a woman entering the room, the door sliding shut behind her.

Her attire was far different from the usual garb worn by Capitol citizens- and what a relief that was- but it was still quite obvious that she belonged here. The woman was dressed in all black, though the light seemed to bounce off of the glossy-looking material, a contrast to the dull grey that surrounded them. Tattoos lined her arms, her cocoa brown skin decorated with gold and black ink. The woman’s chocolate brown eyes were lined with black kohl and golden shadow, her plump lips golden as well. Her face somewhat reminded him of Angelica, the way she looked as though she could sass sense into any opponent that she came across, yet still look like she could hug you for eons.

The woman smiled warmly, and Alexander was somewhat surprised when she began signing to him, _That was a very brave thing you did- that both of you did._

Alexander simply sat there for a moment, pondering on what to do next. He didn't have the patience or energy for signing, but he didn't want to hear himself speak, either- he'd done quite enough of that during the past few days.

Seeing no other option, Alexander hesitantly opened his mouth, “I suppose it was, in some respects,” he muttered, his hoarse voice gaining a small amount of amusement from the astonished look upon the woman’s face. The look lasted for hardly a second, replaced by a devilish smirk and a humoured gleam to her chocolate brown eyes.

“The Colony 12 Tributes this year continue to surprise me. I'm so happy that I chose you two,” The woman sauntered over to the table he was sitting on, extending her hand, “My name is Elizabeth Keckley, but you, dear, may simply call me Hobbs.”

Alexander shook her hand, slightly bewildered by the smoothness of it. Everyone had callouses of some sort back in Colony 12, though it appeared that even that was different in the Capitol, “Alexander Hamilton,” he stated, “But I suppose it would be better for you to just call me ‘Hamilton,’ since there are two Alexanders on our team.”

Hobbs chuckled lightly, “Well, Hamilton, I shall be your stylist throughout your experience here at the Capitol.”

Alexander smirked, “So you're here to make me the prettiest coal miner in the Colonies?” He asked with a tilt of his head, a dark brow raised.

Hobbs responded with the same amount of mirth to her voice, but there was something more serious about her eyes, “I'm here to help you make an impression, my dear,but I suppose I am here to make you pretty,” She stated simply, “I'm sure you're aware of how much fashion plays a role in getting the citizens of the Capitol to like you. Colonies 1 and 2 always have it easy, silver and gold are flashy, grab attention. I intend to give the same eye-catching flair with you and Peggy.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Alexander asked, genuine curiosity in his quiet voice. Every year before, Colony 12 Tributes were always dressed up in collier outfits and sent off into the Parade without a second glance. How could one really add flair to that?

Hamilton could practically see the excited gleam in her eyes as he asked, “Well, they say that under a lot of pressure and extreme heat, coal turns into diamonds,” She paused for a moment before continuing, “I won't spoil too much for you, but I certainly hope you're not afraid of fire.”

Alexander grinned, a similar light glittering behind his own chocolate eyes.

“Hardly.”

~~~

Hobbs was a genius, an absolute genius.

Alexander had hardly questioned her intelligence or her abilities as a seamstress for a second, but what she had come up with was brilliant:

The garment itself was a beautiful, deep, rich black colour, one that seemed to match the colour of coal perfectly. Meticulously sculpted diamonds lined along the hips and the right shoulder, the fabric of which appeared less opaque than the sheer ebony of the rest of the garment. It wasn't until Alexander put on the skin-tight suit that he realized that most of the upper-right torso piece was slightly translucent, exposing the tanned flesh just underneath. Alexander quite liked the dark slate half-skirt with more magma-esque patterns that fell over his right hip, and the long sleeves that connected to his hands like fingerless gloves. Tiny black sparkles and deep, magma-esque orange accents emphasized certain places along the entirety of the garment, catching light and drawing in attention.

It was beautiful, and Alexander could hardly believe that he was wearing it. It was the most stunning thing that he'd ever have the pleasure of wearing, and there was a high possibility of it being the most gorgeous thing that he would _ever_ wear, even if he won the Games.

Once he was fitted, Hobbs wasted no time in doing his makeup, swiftly moving on to his hair. As she gently experimented with his hair, Alexander closed his eyes and tuned out the world, focusing upon the feeling if her fingers trailing along his scalp and through his dark brown locks. If he allowed himself, he could almost believe that it was John’s warm hands that were toying with his hair.

Alexander indulged himself, just this once, allowing the world of the Capitol and the Games to disappear, if only for a moment.

It was wonderful.

~~~

With a final swipe of a brush across his cheeks, Hobbs instructed Alexander to finally open his eyes and look into the mirror.

He couldn't believe what he was staring at.

Upon his arrival, he knew that one of two things would happen to him:

One, his face would be extravagantly covered in makeup,

Or two, his Stylist would simply cover his face with black powder and call it a day.

Hobbs had done neither of these things.

In fact, she had done very little in terms of makeup, his eyes appearing to be the focal point of his face. She had lined his eyes with a thin layer of Kohl, blending it out like wisps of smoke. She'd faded warm toned oranges and reds and yellows to emulate flames dancing with the greying tendrils, the same magma colours that accented the garb he wore, his extravagant costume.

Hobbs had appeared to add a soft glow to his face, defining his more attractive features in a way he never knew was feasible. His cheekbones had been brightened, the contours of his face deepened, an added rouge to his cheeks- but all of these were only subtle in appearance. He looked like himself, but with his lips glossed, eyes decorated, hair braided, and his body tucked into a suit that accentuated the slight feminine shape of his body, he looked like a woman- and he actually kind of liked it.

“If the Capitol wasn’t impressed by you and Peggy before, they certainly will be once they see my two little _femmes fatales~”_ Hobbs mused, her eyes glistening with a sense of pride and her hands clasped together against her chest as she looked over Alexander. He looked better than she had imagined he would, the same thought that she’d had when she had finished Peggy’s attire. _This_ was why she chose Colony 12 after seeing their Reaping- surprises around every corner.

Alexander let out an amused huff through his nose, a happy gleam in his eyes as he glanced at Hobbs, “Fatal women, eh?” He asked, “Had you not been one of the more pleasant people I’ve ever come across, I might have been offended at the direct attack at my manhood.” He paused, eyeing himself in the mirror once more, “At least you made me look pretty like you promised.”

Hobbs rolled her eyes, a humoured glimmer to them as she spoke, taking away the seriousness that would have been there otherwise, “Trust me, the Capitol is highly impressionable to good looks. With this and the little surprise that we have planned, you two will be the most talked-about Tributes in the Colonies. Sponsors will be lining up to give you gifts during the Games.”

Alexander couldn't help but flinch.

_Play by their rules, get Sponsors._

John's words echoed in his head.

Hobbs gave him a sympathetic look, though it was obvious that she didn't know the real reason he was troubled, “You'll do great, Alexander. I can see the fire in you, and I know that you will fight as hard as you can, but the fight will be much easier for you to win if you go along with this little popularity contest.”

It wasn't anything that Alexander hadn't already known, and it was nowhere close to what he was worried about, but he didn't want to be rude. He gave Hobbs a soft smile, signing a quick _thank you_ to avoid hearing the quiet break in his voice that he knew there was bound to be.

Hobbs smiled gave him a gentle hug before stepping back. “Come along, Alexander. We have to meet up with Peggy and put some finishing touches on your chariot for the Parade.”

And just like that, they settled into a comfortable silence as they roamed the halls, Alexander’s own thoughts roaming about listlessly within the vast landscapes of his mind. 

~~~

The late afternoon sun cast a warm golden glow over the concrete oasis of the Capitol. An _oasis,_ that's what Maria had called it, but Alexander thought it too pleasant a word to describe the Capitol. An oasis was a refuge, a place associated with tranquility and peace.

The Capitol was the exact opposite.

Alex thought the word _jungle_ was much more appropriate. Jungles had their charms. They were beautiful in presentation, lavishly decorated, and filled with bright colours- but, as Alexander looked around at his fellow Tributes, he knew that pleasant appearances were something to be wary of. Pretty flowers were often poisonous, and majestic beasts that roamed the forest floor could kill without mercy.

Jungles were ruthless places, filled with hierarchies and mysterious creatures that were on different levels of the food chain.

No wonder the Gamemakers had chosen it as the setting for many of their Games.

Alexander immediately thought of his brother, James, suffering and dying alone in such a cruel place.

Yes, the Capitol was a jungle, but so was the Arena, no matter the setting.

Alexander examined his fellow tributes, attempting to put names to faces and recall which Colony they belonged to.

It was not an entirely simple task.

His dark brown eyes quickly glanced over the Tributes that he easily recognized, spending a bit more time in remembering the names people from the inner Colonies. They had gone through their Reapings first, which meant that many were bound to forget them- other than the Careers, of course. The Capitol would take extra measures to make sure that they were remembered. 

Alexander's eyes had finally made it to the Career Tributes, the familiar flame sparkling within them as he scanned over the male from Colony 2. He'd held a certain detestment for this particular position ever since he was seven years old. 

The male Tribute from Colony 2 had beaten James with a club and left him to die.

Childish reasoning, he knew, but he couldn't seem to help it.

The Tribute was dressed in something Alexander could only guess was similar to the armour of a Spartan soldier. The silver chestplate portrayed large muscles along his torso and abdomen, and from his build, Alex knew that it was probably at least somewhat accurate. The metal and leather kilt was silver as well, though there were decorative magenta and black patterns swirling about on the leather that matched the large cape that attached to his shoulders. The Tribute’s hair was rather large and puffy- Alexander couldn't think of the word for it- and perhaps that was why the man was carrying his helmet instead of wearing it. 

Umber eyes lined with black, silver, and magenta met his own, and Alexander grew curious. He raised a dark brow, perfectly sculpted and shaped to fit his face after the Capitol primping that he had endured. This seemed to incite some form of amusement in the eyes that held his attention, the eyes framed with rich cocoa skin and laced with a sense of superiority.

Alexander rolled his eyes and looked away.

Alexander hated Careers.

The collier instead focused upon his partner, his fellow Tribute from Colony 12. Peggy was dressed very similarly to him, though instead of having a little half-skirt that only covered one hip like he had, her garment was an entire dress. Smaller versions of the diamonds that decorated her hips were scattered strategically along the length of the gown, getting smaller and smaller the lower they got. Her makeup was strikingly similar as, well.

For some reason, she reminded him of a tiny Maria once she got all glammed up in Capitol attire.

Peggy turned to him and began to sign, her lips curling upwards into a cheeky smile, _It's hard to take these people seriously when they're covered in feathers and sparkles._

Alexander gave an amused grin, _They do look rather silly, don't they?_

Peggy’s eyes flickered to the side for a moment, quickly returning her attention to Alexander, _Don't look now, but a Boulder is on his way over here._

Alexander nearly laughed at the little Seam inside joke. They had little nicknames for each of the Colonies citizens, and he was sure that the others had their own.

He kept his face somewhat stoic, for there were far more pressing matters at hand than silly nicknames. For starters, _a fucking Boulder was on his way over._

Alexander could hear the footsteps coming closer, but he had to pretend they were nonexistent. As far as the public was concerned, Alexander Hamilton, the male Tribute from Colony 12, was deaf- and he intended to keep it that way.

He waited until Peggy finally turned her head to look at the Tribute, then feigned confusion and turned his head, looking directly at the larger male. Deep number eyes met his own chocolate ones once more, and Alexander could still see the air of superiority dancing about within them, yet there was a large amount of curiosity as well as he eyed Alexander and his attire.

The Tribute smirked, stealing a glance at Peggy before speaking, “So, you're the Colony 12 Tributes that everyone has been losing their minds over.”

Peggy eyed him warily, “I don't see any other Tributes from Colony 12, so yeah, I guess we are,” She bit back, though it was more out of her sheer sarcasm than an actual insult to his skills of observation.

The man grinned and hummed in approval, “A sharp tongue and a sharp wit, little Schuyler,” he stated with a mock bow. His eyes ventured to Alexander when he stood himself upright, “Is your partner similar?- at least in the department of wit. I don't suppose his tongue is all-too sharp, due to his condition.”

Alexander resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was what he had wanted.

Peggy smirked devilishly, “Who do you think taught me, Mr. Jefferson?”

The name finally clicked in Alexander's head.

Jefferson. Thomas Jefferson, the male Tribute from Colony 2.

Something glittered in Jefferson’s eyes at her response, never leaving Alexander's wary ones for a moment, “A marvelous teacher, you have, little Schuyler.” Jefferson stated, finally returning his gaze to Peggy. He bent down slightly, extending his hand, and she set her own tiny one atop his. He gently kissed her knuckles, a common act of greeting ladies and people of power in the Seam. Was it that way in all of the Colonies?

Jefferson turned to Alexander, extending his hand the exact same way.

Hamilton raised a brow, gaze flitting back and forth between Jefferson and an amused Peggy for a moment before he frowned and finally complied. Jefferson's lips pressed gently against his knuckles, and Alexander managed to keep an annoyed look from his face. This was either an act of respect, or an insult, and Alexander knew that it would most likely be the latter of the two.

Jefferson quirked up a brow as he stood, amusement of his features, “Mr. Hamilton doesn't seem to be very fond of me,” he mused with a light chuckle.

Peggy rolled her eyes, “We don't generally greet men like that in the Seam, unless they are men of power like my father,” She stated simply, “You've essentially just given him the highest regard, or you've called him a girl.”

Jefferson laughed at this, a hearty laugh that almost reminded Alexander of John’s. He kept himself from wincing at the thought.

“My apologies,” Jefferson finally said, amusement lacing his words, “I meant no disrespect- we greet pretty much everyone this way in 2. I suppose it would have been right of me to ask, first. He looks as though he could kill me with a single glance.” He gave Alexander another quick once-over, “Though he does kind of resemble a woman, all dressed up like this.”

It was Peggy’s turn to laugh as she caught Alexander's attention, signing to him Jefferson's apology and explanation. Their little act had to at least look authentic.

Alexander gave a faint smile, looking as though he had come to a realization and giving a few understanding nods. He signed _It's fine_ a few times, just so he could respond with something other than flipping him off.

Peggy translated for him, and Jefferson smiled, “Well, I'm blessed to find your partner so forgiving, Miss Schuyler. Tributes tend to be more hostile towards one another, no matter the circumstance.”

The tolling of bells kept Peggy from responding.

Jefferson sighed, “Time to go put on a show for the Capitol,” he stated with a smirk, “Farewell, Miss Schuyler, Mr. Hamilton. I enjoyed our little... talk.” And with that, he turned on his heels and headed back to his chariot, a smug grin on his face as left the two Tributes from Colony 12 watching him walk away.

Alexander hated Careers.

~~~

Hobbs had explained to them what was to happen as they rode their chariot into the Capitol Square: As soon as they exited the open rotunda, she would press a button, and the sides of their chariot would ignite in faux flames along with them. That didn't mean that Alexander wasn't a little freaked out when his arms were suddenly on fire, but he kept his eyes from widening out of shock, making sure his smile was still there. He even managed to begin waving at the citizens of the Capitol.

Alexander could practically feel the eyes and the cameras upon them, and he could hear the crowd roaring praises from the stands. If he looked hard enough, he could pick out signs in the audience that said stuff like: “I stand with the Schuyler Sisters!” or “Our Dear Mr. Hamilton!”

It was rather... refreshing, to have people actually root for him, but Alexander knew better.

They wanted him to kill.

He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

His gaze settled upon a camera, and his eyes softened, along with his smile. John would most likely be watching the Parade.

Alexander blew a kiss, something he often did only for his dearest Laurens.

The crowd went wild.

Peggy grabbed his hand, and hoisted it into the air, their fingers intertwined.

The audience lost it, their cheers growing louder and louder.

Even through the roar of the crowd, Alexander could still hear John's voice in his head.

_Play by their rules, get Sponsors._

_Win for me, baby._

Alexander's fire returned, eyes sparkling brighter than the faux flames that surrounded them.

If the crowd was any indication of how the Sponsors would react, then they actually stood a chance.

Colony 12 could actually give the Careers Hell.

And damn, if that didn't put the biggest smile on his face.

~~~

Night had fallen over the Capitol, the sky seemingly blank, save for a few of the brighter stars. The light of the large city canceled out most of the stars, and Alexander grew to miss the Seam sky more and more as he looked at the bleak sight.

He laid atop the roof of the Tribute Center, unable to sleep in the lavish, empty bed that was provided for him, the silken pajamas far too soft to be comfortable in. A wry smile had traced itself upon his lips as he thought of how needy he had become ever since he began living with John, how much he would miss the warmth of his bed and bedfellow, how much he would miss listening to a steady heartbeat and the feel of warm breaths against his flesh, how much he would miss _John._

Alexander kept his dark brown eyes glued to the sky, attached to a single star in the distance, and a large part of him wondered if John was having trouble sleeping, too, wondered if John were looking at the same sky, all those miles away.

The collier weakly lifted his hand upwards, pointing his finger towards the sky and drawing simple shapes and patterns in the air. Absentmindedly, he wrote out John's name, and he let out a breathy sigh, allowing his hand to fall onto his chest.

He stared up at the empty sky, eyes flitting from faint star to faint star every once in awhile. After what seemed like forever, he could finally feel fatigue gripping at his eyelids, his limbs growing heavy. Alexander had half a mind to return to his bed, but Sleep was a cruel mistress that struck quickly and without warning.

Tomorrow was going to be absolutely dreadful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so, if ya couldn't tell, I pretty much based Alexander's outfit off of Yuuri Katsuki's "Eros" costume~♡
> 
> Also, the tag "Thomas is Kind of a Jerk" is a bit of an exaggeration. It's more of just Alexander's opinion on Careers and Thomas' position in general, and how Alex takes everything that Thomas says/does. It's only going to really apply to him a few times later on, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there~


	4. Young, Scrappy, and Hungry

Oh, how right Alexander was.

He awoke on the roof just as the sun began peeking over the horizon. The city below was quiet, too quiet for Alexander's liking. At this time of day, the Seam was usually bustling with activity; shops were opening, the colliers were heading off to the mines, the scent of sizzling meat and bread baking looming over the shops as the people got to work.

It seemed that the Capitol was far more different than he had originally thought- and _that_ was saying something.

Alex stood himself upright, hearing a few of his joints popping in the process after having slept on solid concrete all night. This fact earned a simple shrug. It was better than that bed. Anything would have been better than that damned bed, that too-big, too-empty, too-comfortable-to-be-comfy bed.

Either that, or he was just being stubborn. Alex couldn't quite make himself discern between the two just yet.

His dark eyes flitted about his surroundings, settling upon the skyscrapers in the distance. The slowly rising sun painted a fading gradient across the sky, a scene that he had loved to watch, even as a young boy. He fondly remembered watching this same event from the roof of the orphanage as the little town began to stir below.

Alexander sighed as a hovercraft raced by in the distance, marring the picturesque view.

He wasn't in the Seam anymore.

Alex dusted himself off and turned towards the stairwell, begrudgingly forcing himself back down to Suite 12 to meet the others. Maria had said that they would begin preparation for training early in the morning, so perhaps he wasn't the only one awake.

How disappointed he was to find everyone else sleeping when he arrived.

Exactly how early was “early” to the Capitol folk? Sure, it had been a long few days, and Peggy certainly deserved the rest after what she'd been through, but it still seemed so strange that they could still sleep soundly through all of the Hunger Games madness. Well, at least Peggy and Macedon. Maria had been sleeping soundly through the Games her entire life. Everyone in  the Capitol had.

On second thought, perhaps it wasn't so unbelievable after all. 

That didn't make Alexander any less frustrated as his mind wandered to James.

Maria had seen him die- Hell, she had probably cheered on the Career that did it. The Capitol had cheered him on as he bludgeoned a child to death, and what was even more sickening was the fact that that Career had _won._

Alex shook his head to rid his mind of the thought, knowing that if he continued thinking of that Career with that stupid smirk on his face after he had won, he would end up being even more furious at the young man that now stood in that Career’s place.

With a quiet huff and a furrow of his brows, Alexander exited Suite 12, hoping that walking about the halls or sitting on the roof for a bit would clear his head and help him waste some time. If anyone saw him out and about, they probably wouldn't have the patience to handle it. Alexander was just the deaf kid from the Seam- he couldn't possibly be of any importance.

He slowly strolled down the corridor, eyeing the stairwell and the elevator as he neared them. A familiar dinging sound reached his ears as he eyes the now glowing numbers just above the elevator doors. Someone was awake, and they were going to another floor. Odd, but Alex didn't exactly have room to judge. That was exactly what he was about to do.

Alex slowed himself to a stop in front of the elevator, raising an eyebrow as the highlighted numbers began to grow higher and higher.

6…

7…

8…

Dark brows furrowed as he stared at the numbers. 

9…

10…

11…

Alexander urged himself forward, not so much as flinching when the doors whooshed open behind him, when a chuckle broke the silence, when the faint tapping of another set of Capitol-issued slippers joined the sound of his own.

But, oh, did Alexander react when a large hand reached out to grab him by the arm- he made damn sure of that. 

Alex gasped, jerking his arm away, sharply turning on his heels and grabbing a fistful of the large man's silken pajamas and raising his fist, as if he were fixing to swing. A look of panic gleamed in his eyes, almost as if it were really there. He was so used to tricking people of the Seam in similar ways that the look seemed to come to him instantly. Alex liked to believe that he was a pretty decent actor- after all, everyone in the Colonies and the Capitol still believed that he was deaf- and from the surprised look upon Thomas Jefferson's face, he could continue to believe it.

“Woah- hey there, slugger,” Thomas managed after he had collected himself enough to raise his hands in surrender, though furrowed his brows, in an obvious  state of discomfort, “Damn, almost forgot. You can't hear.”

Another sign that his little charade was working wonderfully.

~~~

Alexander had let Thomas go almost immediately after the young man had finished speaking, though managed to keep his jaw set, eyes narrowed, and brows scrunched up, all accompanied by a simple frown.

This did little to assuage Thomas’ unease.

Alexander Hamilton- a malnourished, “deaf,” tired-eyed orphan- had Thomas Jefferson- a damn Career who was probably capable of snapping Alexander like a twig- at a loss for words.

He had to admit: it was rather amusing to watch a Career squirming behind the eyes and searching for the right things to say to the jumpy deaf kid who was half his size that had almost punched him in the face.

After a few moments of awkward silence and the hulking, charismatic Thomas Jefferson attempting to figure out how to explain something without the power of words to back him up, Alexander “calmed down,” taking a few deep breaths to “steady himself.” With a frustrated huff and a roll of his eyes, Alexander straightened out his night shirt and stormed off, disappearing up the stairwell and leaving a wide-eyed and astonished Thomas on the Colony 12 floor.

~~~

Alex looked about the training room, eyeing the various weapon racks and sparring stations that had been placed around it. If his memory served, then the training sessions were only supposed to be partially released to the public, so that the general populous was entertained in the two-week intermission and so that they could see the potential in each Tribute.

Not that it really served to anyone's benefit, unless they had some sort of secret talent that they wanted to show off in order to get Sponsors.

That was the strategy of Colony 12.

Macedon had decided that it would be better to build up muscle and work on unknown skills first, then practice what they already knew. It was exactly what Macedon had done, and Alexander knew to treat the Victor’s advice as gospel if he wanted to even come close to winning, and he encouraged Peggy to do the same.

So that's exactly what he did.

~~~

Alexander spent most of his training time lifting weights and performing basic exercises such as sit-ups, push-ups, and pull-ups. With all of the drugged up food that the Capitol had been giving the Tributes, he found that it actually produced a bit more muscle than he had been anticipating. Alexander was still as lean as he had always been, but now, he wasn't just this little boy from the Seam. He had done exactly what John had told him to:

_Eat and train and work until you look like you're from Colony 2…_

Now, Alexander didn't look huge by any means, especially when compared to the male Career Tributes, but he supposed that it was much better than what he had to work with 2 weeks prior. 

He took a deep breath as the elevator came to a halt. 

This was the final session, the longest one, too.

And all of it would be televised.

Two hours of showing off in front of the camera-

_Ding_

He grinned.

_...show them what you can do._

Alexander could manage that.

The doors whooshed open, revealing the massive training room. 

_“Alexandre!”_ A familiar voice chimed, “Peggy! _Mes amis!”_

“Laf!” Peggy beamed in response. Alex couldn't exactly say anything with the audience around, but Lafayette- the male Tribute from Colony 11- was one of the few that knew that Alexander really wasn't deaf.

This was one of the many things that Macedon had warned about- making allies.

It would either allow him to prosper in the Arena, or it would be what ended up getting him killed. One had to be very careful about choosing allies in the Games, very careful.

Alexander wasn't always careful, but he knew how to find the worst in people. So far, he had not found anything remotely bad within the people that he now happily called his allies.

The Outsiders, they had taken to calling themselves. It was a clever choice, considering most of the members were from the outer Colonies.

Alexander hadn't really thought it necessary for them to have a name, but the others had insisted upon it.

“Colonies 1 and 2 get to be called something cool, as if those _bêtes_ are important,” Jeanne d’Arc- the female Tribute from Colony 11 had spat, “If we are going to be the underdog group, we need to have a name.”

He simply shrugged his shoulders and let the topic drop. There was no point in arguing with them, especially since they had proclaimed him as their leader.

Of course, he had tried to argue when they had done it, but all nine of them were stubborn, and even Alexander Hamilton couldn't fight with them for very long.

It was like the Angelica and Eliza had somehow managed to possess each and every one of them.

_“Maintenant,_ are you two ready to be assessed by the Gamemakers to see who lives and dies?” Lafayette quipped, mostly looking to Peggy for an answer. He had fallen quite easily into the charade after being told the truth, which was one of the many reasons that Lafayette seemed to be a good ally- why all of the Outsiders did.

Peggy giggled, bubbly as ever, “Why, of course,” she responded, “That little number represents our fate  in the Arena, after all. I, for one, would like to show those weird-bearded Capitolists just how high a little girl from Colony 12 can score.”

Lafayette grinned, “Ah, quite a goal to aspire to, _ma petite lapine._ I'm sure you will give them Hell, little one.”

“That's the plan,” she murmured, glancing at the other Tributes around the room, smiling at each of the Outsiders that made eye-contact with her, “but we have to show off here, first.” She grinned up at Alexander, “but mostly him. He's always been good at this sort of stuff.”

Alexander rolled his eyes, smiling down at Peggy before pushing himself onward into the concrete cesspool of sweat and the sickening, overwhelming sense of superiority oozing from many of the people in the room- but mostly the Careers, of course.

At first, he began his usual routine, Peggy at his side:

Fifteen-minute stretches, twenty-five-minute warm-ups, ten-minute weights.

Ten-minute break.

“Miss Schuyler,” a familiar voice broke through the faint, mundane sounds of the other Tributes clashing swords or throwing knives or messing with the memorization tech.

“Jefferson,” Peggy panted, catching her breath after setting her dumbbells back on the rack, “What brings you so far from your group this time?”

Alexander looked to Peggy, following her gaze to meet the tall, broad, captivating figure that was Thomas Jefferson.

The damned man could fill a room with just his presence alone, and it was crowded enough, in Alexander's opinion.

“As always: a lack of conversation,” Jefferson stated simply, that stereotypical Inner Colony accent spilling from his lips like Virginian honey.

Sickeningly sweet.

“Well, Jefferson,” Peggy began, “You've come to the wrong place. Again.”

“Perhaps, but at least the conversation you two manage to provide has some amount of substance.”

“We won't be able to entertain you for long,” Peggy sighed, crossing her arms, “We need every minute of this next hour that we can get- especially in front of the cameras,” the youngest Schuyler said with a grin.

Jefferson raised a curious brow, “Oh- planning to wow the audience with some secret skills, are we?”

“You Careers have it easy. You just show up, show everyone your strengths, then keep doing that until the Games begin, and Sponsors line up to kiss your privileged asses. We have to actually strategize a bit to get Sponsors.”

Jefferson continued to stare with that steady, calm gaze of his, seemingly unphased by Peggy’s words, “Well, Miss Schuyler, Mr. Hamilton,” he bowed, extending his arm towards the rest of the room, “Show us what you’ve got.”

Sickeningly sweet.

~~~

It was dark inside of the simulation box, save for the sliver of light coming from the opening. Despite that darkness, however, Alexander knew that everyone was looking at him. Through the power of Capitol technology, they were able to see him standing there in the darkness, jaw set and eyes focused.

The deaf kid was going in the simulation box with nothing but a bow in his hands, a sheath of arrows on his back, and two daggers at his hip.

He looked to the opening, finding Peggy sitting at the operating panel.

She held up ten fingers, tilting her head.

Ten minutes.

Ten sessions.

Alexander nodded, his fist tightening around the grip, methodically checking that each of his fingers were in the right place.

He had ten minutes to prove to the Capitol that he was worth something.

The opening slowly slid shut, a large “10” centering itself on the wall in front of him.

9…

8…

7…

Alexander steadied his breathing.

6…

5…

4…

He reached for the arrows behind him, his fingers gently gliding against the soft fletching of the Capitol-issued arrows, fingers gripping at the metal nock. 

3…

Inhale.

2…

Exhale.

1…

Alexander nocked the arrow in one fluid motion.

_Begin._

The box went black.

A light erupted behind him, faint enough that he almost couldn't see it, but just enough so he could make out the red hue that surrounded him.

He pulled back his arrow, spun around and let it loose, hitting the scarlet, humanoid figure right where its heart would have been. The figure crumbled into tiny little cubes, dissipating into the floor below, taking the arrow with it- but Alex had more pressing matters to address.

Another light, to his left.

Nock, spin, loose, repeat.

One got too close- dagger to the throat.

More cubes.

Left, behind.

Nock, spin, loose, repeat.

Nock, spin, loose, repeat-

No more arrows.

Alexander grinned, barely skipping a beat when his fingers never met the delicate fletching; instead, his hand went immediately to his hip, gripping a blade firmly before his other hand swung his bow to the left, striking down another figure with ease.

A figure appeared nearly three meters away- Alexander threw his bow, hitting the figure right in the abdomen, piercing through its “skin" and knocking it to the floor.

The bow sank beneath the floor. 

Without hesitation, he lunged for the not-yet “dead" figure, stabbing it abruptly with his blade, unsheathing the other one in the process.

A giant “1” was presented on the wall, and Alexander began to wonder if there had been numbers there all along, counting down his enemies. 

Another light, right behind him. 

No time for wondering. 

Alexander spun on the platforms of his feet, launching himself into a sprint as he closed the distance between himself as his target.

He leapt into the air; the figure did the same. 

Alexander brought his blades down, impaling the scarlet figure with such force that it sent both of them tumbling to the ground, wrestling one another. 

That didn't seem to be enough. 

Quickly, Alexander straddled the figure, dislodged the blades, and began stabbing it until the light dimmed, the figure turning into cubes beneath him. 

_Victory_

The word flashed upon the wall, and Alexander was beaming. 

The wall slid open, revealing a grinning Peggy.

Alexander stood, stepping from the box and back into the training room.

All eyes were on him as he walked to the nearest weapon rack and picked up a slender longsword, returning promptly to the box with that glowing smile on his face. 

One minute down. Nine to go.

~~~

“Jeanne d’Arc.”

“Good luck, Joan,” Peggy grinned.

_“Merci beaucoup,_ little one,” the young woman beamed, “And you will do absolutely wonderful on yours- I know it!” Jeanne smiled, her bright white teeth contrasting with her tanned skin, her short ebony curls bouncing as she turned and walked into the mysterious hallway beyond the door.

It was the path to the room that would decide their fate.

“And then there were three,” Alexander drawled, his dark eyes flitting to his fellow Tributes.

“Right you are, _mon ami,_ Laf muttered with a grin, “I’m just itching to get all of this over with.”

“We’re on Capitol time, now,” Peggy stated, “These people like making you wait for things.”

Peggy was right.

Time seemed to last forever in that concrete room, that room without windows, that room with two doors.

Once Laf and Peggy had gone, Alex was left alone, just as he had been after the whole grooming process.

It was maddening.

The _silence_ was maddening.

Alexander did everything that he could to keep himself occupied in the blank, empty space: pacing, humming, braiding his hair, twiddling his thumbs, nibbling gently at his fingernails, tapping on his chair.

“Alexander Hamilton.”

~~~

The sound of Alexander’s boots tapped against the concrete flooring as he entered a large room, incessant, muffled chatter and the clinking of glasses and silverware against fine china gnawing at his ears where there once was quiet.                                    

His eyes immediately darted to the massive weapon rack in the center of the room, settling upon the bow and the quiver of arrows just beneath it. With a shaky breath, Alexander crossed the gap between himself and his destination, his chocolate brown eyes fixated solely upon the silver gleam that reflected off of all of the Capitol steel.

The Gamemakers suddenly erupted into a brief fit of laughter, and it took Alexander every ounce of his strength in order to stay on course and keep himself from turning around. Pressing his lips into a line out of annoyance and picking up his pace, he reached the rack and lifted the bow from its little hooks, gripping it in his hands.

He remembered the first time that he had picked up a Capitol-issued bow, how different and unnecessarily heavy it seemed in comparison to the ones the he had been used to while hunting illegally with John in the forests outside of the Colony.

Now, it seemed only natural.

With the comfortable, familiar weight in his hand and the quiver strapped to his back, Alexander sole a quick glance at the Gamemakers- who were paying little to no attention to the Tribute that stood before them- before facing his target. The dummy stood their, mounted upon a pole like a dead man on a pike.

How fitting.

Taking a deep breath, Alex took an arrow from the quiver and promptly nocked it, checking on the Gamemakers from his periphery- oh, look, most of them were paying attention.

Without hesitation, he drew his arrow and took aim, released-

_Thwack!_

He’d hit it in the shoulder.

“Damn,” he muttered beneath his breath.

The chatter and clinking resumed in the background.

He drew another arrow, releasing it after taking careful aim-

_Thwack!_

Right between the eyes.

Alexander grinned, looking up at the Gamemakers- the bastards weren’t looking.

Knitting his brows, Alex drew another arrow, releasing-

_Thwack!_

Another hit- this time right where the dummy’s heart would be.

The Gamemakers still weren’t watching.

He was the last Tribute.

They were well in their cups at this point.

They had already made their decision.

_Well, in that case…_

Alex pulled another arrow from his quiver, turning to face the large platform where all of his judges were sitting, completely oblivious. His eyes settled upon the large platter that was being wheeled in: a big, fat, roasted pig- with a shiny red apple shoved into its mouth.

Nock, draw, loose-

He watched as the arrow sliced through the air, piercing the apple and lodging itself deep into the extravagant painting behind it.

Shocked gasps and exclamations arose from the crowd, rising from their seats in a fit of surprised frenzy. They all looked to Alexander, their eyes bulging and mouths agape.

Alexander’s jaw set, his brows still furrowed and his lips drew into a snarl as he tossed the bow and the quiver of arrows onto the concrete with an echoing clatter.

“Thank you, for your consideration.”

His scratchy voice resounded throughout the room, and a hush fell over the crowd. _That_ had shocked them far more than the arrow ever could have, and Alexander knew without a doubt that all eyes were upon him as he stormed out of the room, briefly flipping the bird on his way out.

_Way to go out with a bang,_ he thought to himself with a malicious grin slowly forming on his features.


End file.
